


Wisteria

by beng



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Belly Dancing, Daydreaming, F/M, Mutual Masturbation, Porn with Feelings, Sexual Fantasy, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-07 00:17:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4242192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beng/pseuds/beng
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fili is crushing on his neighbour who he can't have — even moved to another country to get away from her, but apparently his brother is a little shit who thought it was funny to give her his Skype name. </p><p>He knows she didn't mean anything by it, but why, <i>why</i> did she have to tell him about her belly dance lessons in the middle of a working day?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wisteria

**Author's Note:**

> An old piece I decided to cut from another WIP. There's a whole backstory if you're interested, but that shouldn't stand in the way of enjoying this ^^

She stands with her back to him, honey blonde curls caressing her naked brown shoulders. A single bra strap dissects her back, and a full chiffon skirt the colour of wisteria blossom hugs her slender hips. Fili’s half-lidded eyes trace the line of her spine, lingering where it disappears under a wide belt of coins and bead embroidery. He exhales slowly and slides lower in his armchair, a glass of Jack Daniel’s forgotten in his hand.

Oriental music starts playing from somewhere behind the slowly moving curtains. The girl arches her back as she raises crossed wrists above her head, all effortless grace and poise. Gold bracelets circle her wrists and upper arms, and when she juts out her hip to the beat of the drum, when she throws out her leg with heavy anklets of gold and amber, his breath catches, and he thinks he knows what perfection is.

The girl sways her hips to the rhythm of the music, arms moving and mesmerizing like reeds in a stream. Fili takes a sip of his whiskey and wills her to turn around, and when she does, he finds it hard to swallow.

“Twice a week,” she says with a sunny smile and winks at him. “A ten-minute walk from home.”

“You shouldn’t be allowed,” he says, voice tight and cracked.

Fili closes his eyes, but the image of her small breasts bound in violet silk, with long golden tassels reaching down to her navel, is burned in his brain forever. When he looks at her again, Feya holds his gaze, and then she runs the tip of her tongue over her parted lips. There’s a determined look in her eyes, and Fili needs another sip.

He watches the blonde as she throws back her head and succumbs to the music. She dances like there’s nobody watching, she gives herself over to a tambourine madness and the little bells around her ankles, and the caress of chiffon on her naked thighs. She sways like wisteria blossoms in the wind, and Fili is lost in her breathy sighs and the shivering shadows cast by the candlelight on her skin. His own breathing grows heavy as his world narrows down to her dancing.

With her back turned on him again, Feya is coming closer, one small, jingling step at a time, a shimmying, swaying, swirling avalanche of violet desire. Beads of sweat are rolling down her spine, and he can only wonder how hot she must be beneath that multi-layered skirt. Fili finishes his drink in one careless gulp and puts the glass on the floor to his left.

His hands reach up to trace the line of her waist, to feel the muscles moving deep beneath her soft skin. She looks down at him over her shoulder, eyes dark and challenging, and slowly starts drawing figure eights with her hips. She makes another step back and finds herself between his thighs, and, goddammit, he’s not an angel he thinks as his hands stray to her sides, sliding over her naked skin. Glimmering, tinkling gold coins of her belt are right in front of his eyes, and he leans forward, kissing that maddening waistline as he holds her hips.

Feya gasps and stands still, her small hands covering Fili’s. The music continues, a stuttered, rise-and-fall background to her sighs and moans as he draws hot breath along her belt, his large, rough hands wandering to the front and up, then back down to lightly cup her bum.

“Fey…”

“Yea?”

“I can’t… You know I can’t…” he pleads her between kisses. “Why must you torture me so…”

“But tassels, Fili…”

He sighs, defeated by the devilish contraptions, and pulls her down on his lap, draping her small, hot body against his. She is breathing heavily, head leaning back on his shoulder, and when she looks at him, naked desire warring with shyness in her eyes, Fili tightens his hold on her and bends his head in a kiss.

He is gentle — tries to be gentle — but she whimpers and closes her eyes, her lips opening beneath his, so trusting and pliant, and sweet, and he thinks he’ll go mad with how much he wants her, loves her, and can’t have her. His free hand that’s not clutching her around the ribs cups her breast, and Fili can only guess at its softness beneath the embroidered chiffon bra, can only imagine her nipples hardening under his touch as he’d roll them between his fingers. The girl arches her back, whimpering in frustration at the unyielding piece of clothing. There’s too many hooks and safety pins for either of their patience.

Instead, Fili buries his face in her shoulder, kissing her jaw, neck, ears, lips; any inch of her skin not clad in gold or violet. He pulls her higher up against him, parts her legs and slowly slides his hand under those yards of chiffon that presume to hide her secrets. Feya stills in his arms and looks up at him, a question, a plea, a confession in her wide brown eyes.

“Can’t say no to tassels,” Fili whispers to her, as he gently slides his hand up her thigh.

He watches her face for any doubt or fear, but finds none as he presses his hand over her pulsing, hot centre. She arches in his arms and gasps, hands clutching at the armrests of the chair. Her panties are a sodden mess, and Fili finds himself idly wondering how much longer he’ll be able to take her writhing in his lap, her bum flush against his aching erection.

She hides her face in the crook of his neck as he slips his hand in her panties and cups her clean-shaven, dripping pussy.

“So wet for me, Kitten?”

In response, she pouts and kisses the soft spot beneath his jaw. “Since forever, Fee.”

Fili clutches her tighter to him and draws one finger between her folds, closing his eyes and seeking contentment in the simple act of touch, and smell, and trust. He buries his nose in her honey blond curls and breathes in her scent. Her broken sobs and whimpers form a heady counterpoint to the music as his calloused fingers draw teasing circles around her clit.

Feya cries in frustration and draws her hand through his hair. She thrusts out her chest, and Fili sees beads of sweat collecting under her breasts, part caught in the tassels and part in his sleeve. He wants desperately to haul her home, to throw her down on his bed and then simply tear off that stupid garment. He wants to palm and knead her pert tits, to suck and graze her nipples till she’s a moaning, writhing mess swearing off any bras for ever, and then to take her, and fuck her, and love her till next Tuesday or next lifetime, till she comes, crying out his name, till she sees stars exploding and new worlds being born.

The girl is trembling, her breath a heady stutter of sighs and whimpers not unlike the whimsical beat of her dance. She opens herself even wider, pulls up one slender leg and props it on Fili’s knee with a vibrant jingle of her anklet. He holds her tighter, murmuring sweet nothings in her hair, asking her to relax, to trust, to enjoy. His fingertips brush against her entrance and then rub her clit harder, as he closes his eyes and imagines her clutching at his rumpled sheets, breathless and sweaty. He imagines her nails digging in his back, imagines those shapely legs locked around his waist, the tightness of her walls clenching around him as he fucks her to completion.

It is never going to happen, so he bends his head and tries to distract himself with the salty taste of her skin, the warm vulnerability of her neck. She squirms and bucks against him, and then she comes, in a flurry of tambourine and shuddering gasps, and golden bells and coins, and tassels and wild curls. He drinks in the sight of her as she arches against him, tight as a bowstring and beautiful as a dream, crying and laughing, and trembling in his arms, then turning and capturing his lips in a scorching kiss…

 

\-----

“What’s ‘tribal fusion’?” A nasal male voice cuts through the silence in his headphones, and Fili blinks in confusion, then tears them off and tries to pull himself together.

“What…?”

“The YouTube video you were just looking at. What is it?”

Damn!

“A friend of mine signed up for a class. I was curious,” he mumbles and quickly minimizes the browser window, which leaves him staring at the non-finished piece of code he is supposed to figure out before the end of the day.

The lead analyst looks down at him sceptically but then apparently decides to let it slide. He pushes his glasses up his nose and leans down over Fili’s shoulder again.

“So show me what you did with those libraries, what seems to be the problem there…”

 

Behind the window, a wisteria sways its blossoms in the breeze.


End file.
